the wonderful, Weary1 stopped by the house yesterday to drop off a pie pan {10 cents} and this great book~ i don't display my Pulp novel's, i have never actually felt like i was going to stay here long enough to warrant a huge book shelf, here is a taste of my youthful love, and yes i actually read most of these books, while i should have been hitchhiking around South America, and throwing rocks at Israeli tanks, building illegal space craft, and moments, climbing mountains across the Caucasus's, swimming down the Mississippi. . . but i degrees~

is he a unicorn ? is she a scorpion, are they at the beach ?

i learned one thing from pulp novel cover art~ always point guns at sexy ladies who only wear paint on clothing, break-away-skirts, serious expression or mysteriously fade into the mist

but wait look again, that moon is Saturn or some alien planet, and wait, she has pointy ears, science fiction noir, wacky

everything about this sub looks conventionally 20th century unless it's implied that this cybernetic aquanaut rides inside, another hold over from the big one, WWII

come to the future and relax inside a warm comfortable womb, no shirt ? no problem, big boots~ mandatory

blondes will drive you mad with there fecundity

on the magazine front~ we as Americans, coming down from WW2 battle high, decided, fuck it, lets just keep building bombers and jet fighters and nuke the world into peace freedom and segregation

does anyone else marvel at the fact that it took the entire world to beat/destroy the Germans during world war two~

lesson learned~ don't fuck with Germans

again with the blondes, this little honey, is so cold she's picking this guys pocket, he, who brought a knife to a gun fight, chump, just what were they doing hiding behind the sofa anyway, love the knit polka dot shadow on her thigh

Q. hatchet, giant blood drop, sky blue clouds ?

A. surrealist murder

what were we planing on doing in the next war, drop cars on the Kremlin ?

stone cold blonde ? hmmm. . . ? she's sexy, she's reaching for something in that drawer, she's clearly blonde, they were obviously up to sexual antics, but~ is he crippled, drugged, sloppy drunk, glued to that chair, oh, no look out a gun is opening the door,

that's where i want to live, inside the atomic structure of the very objects we live with

trace the line of smoke from her cigarette to the word . . . blonde and yes, she is using her vag as an ashtray

ladies. . . never date short men

" dear diary, why do all the guys in my life look like shit. . . ?"

read what owners say ? about the atomic plane ? i love pulp art so much better that the real art i see now, the dreamy colors, the smooth lines, the crazy optimistic ideas, was the U.S. government planning on the use of atomized commercial aircraft as future weapons platform delivery systems, WAS, the U.S. government involved directly with the atomic attack on the world trade centers ?

this title really grabs me, then the clocks, and the bubbles, opposed to pyramids and UFOs. . . an eight handed clock, what da. . . ? that's like three days at once, sitting in the Ark

those two guys are so heroic putting those packages into that sexy imported cars, wait, that's the atomic pile, they must have run out of fuel, maybe his partner would like to play ultimate with us, or could they be terrorists loading explosives, or Mexican drug cartel donkeys, or could they be congressmen loading up their gifts, from lobbyists

The Ecoraseur anti-evolution ship, sat in a puddle of it’s own filth ~an atmosphere of ruined ships, worlds, satellites, men, bodies, globules of water, blood, piss, whole swirling menagerie of things once broken, set enflame, ripped across the sky, like a black shit, a blunt two edged knife, battle scarred, bent, ruptured, mangled and falling apart, flat black against the night, all nights, with twin lightning bolt insignias, flashing in neon crack, wings, engine, pods antennae, huge trailing globes, like chains, sparkling in starlight, thundering motor roar, sub arc, doppled explosions of atmospheric tearsWithin, this great deathly destroyer, slightly wavering, at the very rubicon of demise, three men like things stand in perfect yellow spot light, one tapping a foot, one crossing and uncrossing thick uniformed arms, the third, rubbing it’s face,Ghouls, in tattered uniform, flesh like swamp primed meat, grey, sagging, checks pulling on brown clotted eyelids, hang open, pink with wet yellowed eye, stretched red weepHelmets propped on shoulders, gutted, punctured, stained,Around these three men like things, the deck, fizzled, popped and creaked, lights flickered on and offWe really must find something to destroyThe foot taper whispers and the other two turn their heads,Yes, in agreement, they’d been sweeping this system for years of weeks, had killed millions of baby plankton but nothing more, nothing with any weight to it, nothing important had died at their ships command and they grew boredI’m bored the face rubbing man, whines, lets go, lets go, we gotta roll out roll out.

While behind them seated on the black pitted decking a small clan of hominids huddled, and spoke a language three million years old which sounded like wind brushed off the back of starlings, like pebbles being slowly tumbled down creek beds, like swaying grasses against august’s combustible clouds~"We should bury this dead crew~" the female hominid whispers, hands dancing towards her hair combed straight back and slick with color~"Our ship is too slow to follow the Other~"'This ship will infect us~ look at these humans, dead things on legs, their eyes blinded~ this ship, a museum of shit ~ I agree we should leave these creatures, but, only after~"

"We’ll follow you, from our homeships, we will join your hunt~" standing, the small clan speaks, stares at the backs of three greasy, crawly, scabbed out heads and necks wrinkled space suits, primitive, painted a faded green patina of arcane design and age. Who jump startled~The display screens beyond, flickering, image racked, pop, and sizzle, blips and alerts,The three men like things, decomposing, turn quickly then, like starving ballerina,Your leaving, already, we could find you something to wear, we might have some more space suits, we’ll dig around, wait, have dinner with us~The three men like things all let their eyes fall down in awe at the group of naked warriors, men and women, in paint and oils, hair perfectly combed back, muscles bulged over wide shoulders, brown skinned, thick boned, well hung, nipples like knives~ a beautiful people, calm, empty handed,You came naked, and weaponlessLet us give you clothes and weapons~ you can stay in our gardens~"We are born this way, we die this way, weapons are for the weak, a weapon will not save you~Our ship wait’s the children must be feed~"You will follow us then, yes, yes, we gotta go can you keep up, you have to tell us~ we don’t want to loose you~ you smell delicious"We shall follow, this hunt is very important to us~" this collective is serious and the pack of hominids turns and flash, a few steps taken, a sidestep, a twist and they disappearHow do they do that ? One man saysHow did they get on our ship ? Another ponders, running hands along control knobsWhat people are they ? Are they us ?While the great black splash carbon painted ship buckles beneath their feet and they stand on deck consulting with computation device, studying screen, grown dim, cobwebbed, watching feed of live action, empty halls, chambers, passageI think they are still on board

But outside the greasy slick hull, the clan, crawls under Green leaf clam shell hatch, lays down and grabs a thick stalk like handle, nine hominids, on a bumpy stick, like a broom freshly carved and sewn, sweeps out and away, swirling, erratic, unseen, a blip than winks and is gone~

We’ll search the ship from beginning to end~ Try to find theirs, where could it float ?We’ll use the Machine, if we have to~Yeahs, we shall, the one who rubs the face says and thinks of the smells still wafting along the stagnant air like stratus, layers of life itselfThe one who rubs his face, raises his head and turns, tries to smile, and uses a hand to push the flesh, the others at controls, brittle plastics, aged crumbled, drool, and look at vid and pix of haunted hallways, empty rooms, still pads and hangers, a ship full of ghosts, quietly looking for lifeand now, invaded by animals~ who smell like flowers and creek beds, honey dew and blood~

yes, one has stayed behind~ the once man thinks turning to viewers plump with palimpsest smeared stars

the school play was titled show us your ass, about planets shaped like children who exist as vehicles for civilisations of bacterium, who show there hive mind power by creating dresses and denim pants and striped knit shirts

or~

the play was titled, the Aryans from the moon want their freedom or it's war, while the future hope of the world, USA, stands in the way

hey, come down and help pour this milk out, then we can fill the bottles with gasoline and attack the cigarette machines

i can't, i'm going to throw this grenade at the postman, my first act of sedition~ my first step to destroying the state

keep walking, smile and just keep walking, that's right wave to the nice lady, and RUN !

but it's flat~ hollow and expanding !

the moon told me to slice your throat Mister Bunny, or is that just a shadow of a knife that grows in the imagination of young girls, don't be cross with me~

see how wheels will help the democratic party finally put an end to the health care stale mate of 1963

shortly before the looters. . . spurred on by the commie pinko fags, who blew up the prison, to feed the poor, who, will not be drawn by any of our professional union artists

look children, the filthy dirty workers are taking another coffee break, sucking the life out of our economy, damn, it we should have bombed them, instead of those japs

Mrs. Martine, are those men Mexican ?they really eat eggs ?

Mommy, Mommy, the new robotic dolls are out, can we buy one, can we buy one ?

buy one, oh, honey, you are one !

i can't believe how small god is,

and more slaves. . .

Tommy tried to grab his hat, before he'd realised that he'd been shot in the head by their father

grandfather killed and junked the alien mother ships, while our neighbours came to pray

people grow and change addictions~ thanks in part to the criminally negligent pricing of Alcohol, beer, cigarettes, candy and processed foods

people grow enslaved to corporations because it is easy and feels good, can't live with themselves, or the boredom of this world behind glass, viewed, have never been comfortable around each other because we are all animals

~ thank god we, won the war

now people are telling me that cake won the dessert wars, because people were too uncomfortable eating pie, because they don't like to eat anything shaped like pussy

themselves

all kinds of workers work for you~ Master ! is what i meant. . . until i get a gun

love the crap out of drunk elephants, mid century mascot

could you pass me that big fucking pencil ?

yeah, i need a few salvations

scary, and brilliant

damn it, i just can't ride a trycyle, or share !

whatever became of all these juvenile delinquents roaming the streets in hot rods, with leather jackets and switchblades, greased up hair, where'd they all go, did they get jobs and have kids who grew up to be hippies, who grew up to be disco drug suckers who grew up to be. . . America

i love all of this generic commerciel art form the early sixites such an incredible odd time, so preposterously perfect, could it have actually been real, or was it actually all fantasy,